


Shrapnel

by paperiuni



Category: FAKE (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Partnership, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperiuni/pseuds/paperiuni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dee deals in fragments. The shards cut them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shrapnel

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a treat for Yuletide Madness 2008.

There is a webbed fracture in the cranium from the impact with the wall. Bone chip and mortar crumb catch in the soft matter beneath. They mix in the blood as it smears on the tile. Self-defense explains, but does not excuse.

Ryou deals with his temporary partner on the clock, and with his constant one in his own time.

Dee deals in fragments.

His ribs are the first to mend. Sick leave compounded with probation leaves him too much time. Ryou grows used to cracking the door to an empty apartment. Comprehension and concern trail each other. Anger only comes later, in a low, welling spasm.

He counts the days. Ryou frowns at the numbers split out by red marker on the wall calendar, only not to mention it.

The drawer that held Dee's gun sticks one day, open enough to bare a jag of darkness. Ryou leaves it the way it is, for once. He keeps his own locked up whenever it doesn't weigh in the holster.

Other people squint through the seams to see in. Dee sloughs them off and they trickle back in. Ryou is grateful, even quicksanded in his own frustration.

The patterns of their life scratch and scream to realign. The clockwork mechanism of recovery runs its course, at least on paper.

Ryou sighs, but bandages ungloved knuckles taken to a punching bag. Dee's hands lie flat and stiff on the kitchen table as he applies the antiseptic. The blood is clean and red on the skin.

Sometimes, the bed lies empty on either side. Closeness grates, absence shatters, but it is hard to know which is better.

Dee deals in red tape. Ryou gathers up the papers that cut up the living room floor. They sit clean and white in perfect rows again.

He leans over the coffee table until he can clasp the back of Dee's neck. His partner tucks his dark head against Ryou's throat and breathes, slow and rasping, so unlike Dee.

Another shard slots into place.


End file.
